The Neighbor from 302

Renata moved into apartment 302 on a January Saturday. Pedro, who lived in 301, heard the move through the thin wall and didn’t think much of it. Just another neighbor. The building was old—six floors with no elevator, walls that let through any sound louder than a whisper. On Monday, he saw her for the first time in the hallway. She was locking her door, her back to him. A floral dress, brown hair tied in a loose bun, tanned legs. When she turned and noticed him there, she smiled. — Hi! I’m Renata. I moved in on Saturday. — Pedro. 301. — He pointed to his own door. — Welcome to the building. — Thanks. If you need anything, just knock on the wall—I’ll hear you. — She laughed, and Pedro realized she had already noticed how thin the walls were. Over the following weeks, Pedro started noticing things. The smell of coffee drifting from her apartment in the morning. The muffled sound of music—always MPB, Marisa Monte, Adriana Calcanhotto. The sound of the shower at seven a.m., which he could hear perfectly from his bedroom, since the bathrooms shared a wall. And the moans. The first time he heard them, he thought he was imagining it. It was a Wednesday night, almost midnight. A low, rhythmic sound, growing slowly. Pedro lay still in bed, holding his breath. It wasn’t the TV. It was Renata. Alone, as far as he could tell—no male voice, no bed creaking under the weight of two people. He got hard instantly. He felt a flicker of guilt, then let it go. He closed his eyes and listened. Her moans were soft at first, then more urgent, until a long, trembling sigh made Pedro bite his lip. After that, it happened almost every night. Sometimes at eleven, sometimes at one in the morning. Pedro began waiting for that sound like someone waiting for a favorite show. He knew it was wrong—invasive, voyeuristic—but the walls gave him no choice. On a Saturday morning, he ran into her in the building’s laundry room. She wore short shorts and a white tank top with no bra. Pedro tried not to stare at her nipples pressing against the fabric. — Pedro! How’s it going? — She smiled as always. — Sorry if I’m loud at night. These walls are paper-thin. His face burned. Did she know he listened? — No, don’t worry. I don’t hear anything — he lied. Renata tilted her head, a different smile on her lips. Almost mischievous. — Liar — she said softly, and went back to folding her clothes. Pedro didn’t know what to say. He went back to his apartment with his heart pounding. That night, the moans were louder. As if she wanted him to hear. As if she knew he was on the other side of the wall, listening to every sigh. Pedro touched himself along with her, trying to match the rhythm of her sounds. When she came—a long moan, almost a stifled cry—he came with her, muffling his own sound in the pillow. The following Tuesday, someone knocked on his door at nine p.m. It was Renata, with a bottle of wine and two glasses. — Hi, neighbor. I’m bored, and this bottle is too big for one person. Pedro let her in. She sat on his couch as if she already lived there. Legs crossed, her dress riding up her thighs. He poured the wine, trying to keep his hands steady. They talked for an hour. She was a graphic designer, freelance, worked from home. She had moved after ending a five-year relationship. She was “rediscovering” single life, she said with a smile that made it clear what that meant. By the second glass, she was more relaxed. By the third, she pressed her leg against his on the couch. — Pedro — she said, looking at him over her glass. — Can I ask you an honest question? — Go ahead. — Do you hear me at night? The silence lasted three seconds. Pedro decided to be honest. — I do. Renata didn’t seem surprised. Or embarrassed. She set her glass down and turned to him. — And what do you do when you hear me? The air between them crackled. Pedro’s mouth went dry. — What do you think I do? Renata leaned in. Her hand landed on his thigh. — I think you touch yourself thinking of me — she whispered. — And I find that very exciting. She kissed him. Taste of red wine, soft lips, a determined tongue. Pedro responded with the urgency of weeks of pent-up desire. His hands went to her waist, pulling her onto his lap. Renata straddled him without hesitation. Her dress rode up to her waist, and Pedro realized she wasn’t wearing panties. The heat of her against his pants was maddening. — I’ve been doing that for weeks thinking of you — she confessed between kisses. — Knowing you were listening. It turns me on, knowing you’re there. Pedro groaned. He pulled her dress over her head. No bra, no panties. She was completely naked on his lap, even more beautiful than he had imagined on those lonely nights. Medium-sized, firm breasts, dark nipples already hard. A narrow waist, wide hips, a small moon tattoo on her rib. Pedro devoured her with his eyes before devouring her with his mouth. He sucked on a nipple while his hand slid between her legs. Renata was soaked. When his fingers touched her, she moaned—that same moan he heard through the wall, but now live, in his ear, and a thousand times better. — Bedroom — she gasped. Pedro carried her. She was light, her legs wrapped around him. He tossed her onto the bed and stripped off his own clothes in seconds. Renata looked him up and down, biting her lip. — Come here — she said simply. He went down on her first. He wanted to hear those moans up close, caused by him. His tongue found her clit, and Renata arched her back, gripping the sheets. He licked, sucked, teased until she was trembling. — Pedro, please — she begged. — I need you inside me. He climbed up, put on a condom, and entered her slowly. Renata dug her nails into his shoulders and let out a guttural moan that nearly made Pedro lose control. — Harder — she demanded. He obeyed. Each thrust drew a sound from her—the same sounds he heard through the wall, but amplified, unfiltered, shameless. Renata was vocal, expressive, telling him what she wanted. — Like that... don’t stop... deeper... Pedro turned her onto her side, lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, and entered her at that angle. Renata cried out in pleasure, her eyes rolling back. — I’m close — she warned, her voice breaking. He sped up, one hand sliding down to stimulate her at the same time. Renata came with a cry that probably the whole building heard—her entire body convulsing, squeezing him in a way that took him over the edge with her. Pedro came with his face buried in her neck, groaning her name. They lay tangled together, sweaty, laughing. — Now — Renata said — you don’t have to just listen anymore. Pedro kissed her forehead. — And the neighbors in 303? I think they’re going to start hearing us now. Renata laughed. — Let them hear. From that night on, the moans from the third floor doubled in volume. And they came from both apartments at the same time.